


the tanging of a song i once knew

by gagreflex



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: M/M, Memory Loss, inspired by / of course / everywhere at the end of time by the caretaker
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 10:53:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gagreflex/pseuds/gagreflex
Summary: There aren't many moments where Renjun has some sort of clarity. Maybe it'd be easier if he had none.
Relationships: Huang Ren Jun/Na Jaemin
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	the tanging of a song i once knew

**Author's Note:**

> this is kinda just me writing about one of my biggest fears. sorry lmao uh. enjoy

It’s always a fleeting sight, of Renjun and Jaemin sharing steps in a dark room, Jaemin’s hands warm against his arms and trying to stabilize him. Every few seconds or so, Renjun loses the color of the moment, the feeling of the moment, the warmth of the moment. Sometimes even worse, he forgets Jaemin’s face, how his smile is always soft and welcoming, how his eyes shine despite whatever else had happened in the day. The most terrifying is when he forgets Jaemin’s name, and everything else.

There’s always notes he finds that he never remembers writing, meals still sitting on the stove that he forgot to serve, and the heavy lack of a person beside him who seemed to take up the majority of his life, of whatever life he had. There are very, very few moments where Renjun finally gets some clarity, where he remembers who he is, why he is here, and everything else. He remembers how proud he stood atop the mountains, how his hands never froze in the snow, how he was always the first to start a fire, and how Jaemin would wrap his arms around him in a comforting manner, and how it would always, always work.

Or was that what he was remembering? Renjun fiddles with the note, the shaky handwriting barely legible but telling him to brush his teeth and to wait until he sleeps. The food is still on the stove, and it smells burnt. Renjun sets down the note, but he immediately picks it back up again, looking over the handwriting before leaving the kitchen. The bathroom. The toothbrush. His teeth. His fingers.

His fingers. They’re cold. He should get mittens or gloves or a blanket. In his room there’s a blanket, and a big bed, but he swims in it, thinking maybe another person could be here with him. Hanging above his bed are five canvases, with room for one more. They each depict a person formed of shapes. Colors. Renjun’s eyes focus on the last one, a hollow form of a man, paint oozing out of him. The vague shape of a man. Melding together. It’s hard to comprehend. Shapes surround the man. Is it even a man? Who even painted them? There’s a note on his nightstand, the shaky handwriting telling him to brush his teeth. Right, his teeth. The toothbrush. 

The bathroom light is dim, and Renjun is about to stick the toothbrush into his mouth before seeing another note, reminding him about the toothpaste and water. 

There’s only one thing he really misses anymore, and it’s dancing with a man, or some semblance of a man, in a dark room. Renjun subconsciously drags his hands around himself, forming his own hug. They would dance, and dance, and dance. Was it important? The man would smile, or was he frowning? Renjun lowers himself to the ground and screws his eyes shut, begging to hold onto the last thing he knows. The man’s face would shift, and Renjun digs his fingers into his hair. Jaemin was always too nice to him.

“Renjun? I’m home!” a voice calls, one that brings Renjun away from whatever past he is trying to recollect. The stove is shut off loudly, and a man stands in the doorway, his face and limbs teetering and melding, and Renjun tries to place a name. Or a face. Or anything. He wants to cry, he wants to place words to what he is feeling, but he can’t think of anything. He can’t remember anything. Does anyone even remember anything? 

“I’m still looking everywhere. I’ll find something for you before it becomes too much, okay?” the man whispers, and Renjun can’t take his eyes off of him. What does he say? Can he say anything? He wants to ask why, but he simply smiles now that he isn’t alone. Things will be okay.

He knows things will be okay when the man holds him closely, when his hands elicit a shot of warmth along his skin that runs deep into his veins, a distant feeling that is familiar and he doesn’t want to forget. A feeling of dancing alone and with heavy, bursting hearts. Things will be okay. The fog will go away, and he’ll be able to speak to this man, to put a name to his face.

“You didn’t eat dinner. I’ll remake it for you.” The man gets up, and Renjun forces himself to stick close to him for… the warmth. For the warmth.

The warmth. The feeling that leaves Renjun’s fingers when he grabs the man’s arm. The feeling that burns his face when Jaemin glances over his shoulder. When Jaemin… when Jaemin moves with him. 

Jaemin stands over the stove and Renjun sits at the counter, all of this too familiar, but he can’t place anything to it. Why can’t he place anything to it? Why are his hands so cold? He should put mittens or gloves on or something. 

He wants to dance again, he wants to sing again, he wants to be able to tell Jaemin about all of the thoughts in his head. His heads. His head?

The man turns around from the stove and pours the steaming food onto a plate, and Renjun watches with a smile since he isn’t alone. His fingers fiddle with the spoon, but the man encourages him to eat. Renjun prefers to stare at the man more, to listen as he talks about random things. It all leaves him right away, but there is someone here. He isn’t alone. His hands are still cold.

Renjun grabs a note that is on the counter, telling him to brush his teeth and wait before going to bed, and he holds it out for the man to take. “You wrote this so long ago,” the man sighs, and Renjun wants to argue and tell the man that he didn’t write it, he would’ve known if he did. That isn’t his handwriting.

Jaemin only stares at him forlornly, and Renjun wants to apologize, to tell him that he loves him dearly, to tell him that he wants to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie, to tell him that he wants to go on dates again, to tell him that he wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him so close that their souls conjoin. 

He wants… a lot of things. Nothing.

“You’ll get better. You won’t have to be like this anymore.” Jaemin tilts forward, hand blocking his face, and a spoon falls from Renjun’s hand and into the food. It isn’t appetizing, food never has been. It’s just there. It’s just… there.

Why are his hands cold? Renjun wants to look for mittens. Or gloves. Or a blanket maybe. 

The man starts crying, his tears melting his face as sobs wreck his body, a painful noise that Renjun has never heard before. He wants to comfort the man, tell him that everything will be okay, but he doesn’t even know what he is crying about. What could there be to even make a man lose himself to such sadness?

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading <3


End file.
